


Company Assets

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [20]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Crazy Stupid Love, F/M, Slightly Out Of Character, a bit of silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 13:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21477088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: For a request - see notes. Turns out everyone has seen more of Strike than they expected. A bit of silliness :)
Relationships: Ilsa Herbert/Nick Herbert, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Denmark Street musings [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1035698
Comments: 28
Kudos: 59





	Company Assets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lumenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumenka/gifts).

> For Lumenka, who left the following comment on “We won’t even see each other.”
> 
> “Love it :)
> 
> Also, you made me realize that (1) I was somehow sure that Ilsa knows how big is Strike ...there. Not because they slept but just ... they’ve been long friends she probably saw him in swim shorts or something.
> 
> (2) I really wanna read a fic where robin while being drunk accidentally sees strike in all his glory and she exasperatedly mumbles “are you kidding me? How am I gonna survive this?! You’re kind and smart and handsome and now I know that without clothes you’re also GORGEOUS!” Like that famous “you re photoshopped” scene in “Crazy stupid love”
> 
> (3) tired robin accidentally telling strike that being tired in his cozy company beats being tired alone in her flat.
> 
> Or the other way round. I imagine tipsy robin and tipsy corm in all these scenarios because these two would never blurt something out accidentally.”
> 
> This has taken me ages, sorry. I started it almost immediately, and could never quite get it to be what I wanted it to be. But anyway. Maybe it just is what it is. Slightly out of character, I’m not sure this would happen, but it was fun to do. :)

Robin clattered up the last flight of stairs to Strike’s flat and knocked merrily on the door. The warm buzz of two glasses of wine filled her, and she was looking forward to dinner with her friends after an afternoon of shopping and chatting in a wine bar with Ilsa.

“Come on, Cormoran!” she called. “Nick’s here now and you’re two drinks behind me and Ilsa. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

A muffled call of “come in” reached her, and she grabbed the handle, swung the door open and marched in. “You’re missing all the fun— Oh!” She stopped, frozen, at the sight of Strike standing, naked except for his prosthesis, in the middle of his flat. Before she could think, her eyes had swept across him, taking in broad shoulders, copious amounts of body hair, a soft stomach, and _oh— _

“I said _don’t _come in!” he cried.

“Sorry!” Robin swung away, fixing her eyes on the door, her face scarlet, unable to shake the image in her tipsy head. That was _not _what Matthew had looked like naked. Nothing like it.

“Um, sorry,” she cried again. “You’re not answering your phone.”

“I was in the shower. Ran late tailing Mr Money.” His footsteps, one padding, one clumping, moved swiftly across to his bedroom and she heard the soft rustle of a towel. “I’m decent now.”

Reluctantly, still scarlet, Robin turned back. Strike was almost as red-faced as she was, safely wrapped in a towel now.

“Robin, I’m sorry—”

She shrugged. “Not your fault.” She couldn’t stop looking at his thickly haired chest.

Strike’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Wait there. I’ll get dressed.” He disappeared into his bedroom.

Robin sighed a shaky sigh and turned away again.

So much hair, such broad shoulders— She groaned a little under her breath. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she muttered.

“Pardon?” Strike was back in the room, trousers on, reaching for the shirt on a hanger suspended from a beam. Robin jumped and spun round again. Yup, still gorgeous.

“Nothing,” she said hurriedly, dragging her eyes away again. “Um, I might just go and wait in the pub with the others.”

Strike had pulled the shirt on and was doing up buttons. “Good plan. I’ll be right behind you.”

...

Ilsa shrieked as Strike entered the pub ten minutes after Robin. “No fair, he’s put clothes on!” She nudged Robin, who blushed.

Amused, Nick rolled his eyes. “They’re pretty tipsy,” he warned Strike. “Third glasses now. I got you a pint.”

“Thanks,” Strike said, taking off his coat. “What have I missed?”

“We were just discussing your...” Ilsa trailed off and squinted, thinking. “..attributes.”

Strike hung his coat on the coat hooks on the wall and turned back, eyebrow raised. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, cos, see, we’ve all seen.” Ilsa waved an arm vaguely at his crotch. “We’ve all seen your...”

“Wait. Let me get this straight,” Strike said, sitting down. “Although I think I am going to regret this question almost immediately. The current topic of conversation is that you have all seen me naked?” He glared around the table.

Robin blushed. Ilsa grinned. Nick shrugged.

“Well—” Strike stopped and looked at them all. “Robin, yes, that was an accident, for which I have apologised even though it wasn't my fault. Nick, fair enough, we’ve roomed together on trips and stuff. But Ilsa?” He turned to look at her.

Ilsa giggled. “Come on, Corm, how many times have you slept off a drinking night with Nick on our sofa or the futon over the years? Boxer shorts don’t cover as much as you think they do.”

“Well, why were you looking?” he demanded.

“Put your hackles down, I wasn’t perving. A couple of times when I brought you a cup of tea, your blanket or whatever had fallen off. I just covered you up again. No big deal. And one time you were actually sleeping naked. Can’t really miss it then.” She grinned at the spots of colour on her old friend’s cheeks.

Nick snorted. “Good thing we don’t drink like we used to.”

“Oh, yeah, I haven’t seen it in ages,” Ilsa said airily. “But I can’t imagine it’s changed much.”

Strike was scarlet now. “I’d rather you didn’t imagine...“it” at all! Can we please change the subject?”

Ilsa giggled. “No. What were you doing walking round your flat naked anyway? You were supposed to be getting ready to come out.”

Strike shifted uncomfortably. “Air drying.”

Nick snorted. Strike glared. “Hey, all this—” he made a vague gesture at his own torso, now safely shirt-clad “—hair holds a lot of water. It’s impossible to get properly dry with a towel, and then I’m damp all evening if I throw a shirt straight on.”

Robin made a tiny whimpering noise, and Ilsa giggled, turning to her. “Got any more to say on the subject before we let Corm off the hook?”

Red-faced, Robin squeaked and buried her face in her wine. “No.” She couldn’t shake the image of all that body hair from her mind. Matthew had been smooth and slim.

“Right,” Nick said firmly. “Football.” Strike looked relieved and the girls groaned.

...

“Right, I really think it’s time to call it a night,” Nick said, regarding his now really rather drunk wife fondly. She leered at him.

“You tryna get me home to bed?”

He laughed kindly at her. “Yes - with a coffee and maybe some toast, that’s all you’re going to be fit for tonight!”

She nudged her shoulder up against his and buried her face in his neck. “You never know.” Her voice was muffled against his skin.

Strike snorted, and Nick laughed and gently extricated himself. “Tell you what, let’s get you home and into bed and see if you don’t just fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.”

“Mmm, bed,” Ilsa said dreamily, allowing him to haul her to her feet. He helped her with her coat.

“Come on, Ellacott,” Strike said cheerfully to his equally tipsy work partner. “Let’s find you a taxi. You look like you need your bed too.”

“Mmm, bed,” Robin echoed. She pulled her own coat on and they all left the pub. Strike lit up a cigarette and laughed as Ilsa wound her arms round Nick’s neck and started to kiss him.

Chuckling, Nick gave her a firm, chaste kiss on the lips and gently turned her to face in the direction of the Tube. “Come on, wife. This way.”

“Mm, you’re keen.”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. Let’s go and find the kettle.”

Robin giggled as they set off down the street. Strike smoked and watched them go, grinning. Robin sighed.

“They’re so cute together.”

“They really are,” he agreed. “Besotted with each other the moment they met.”

Robin pulled a face. “I thought I loved Matthew like that. Maybe I did once.”

He regarded her levelly. “I’m sure you did. I loved Charlotte, once. Just because it ended doesn’t mean it wasn’t good at the beginning.”

“That’s very phil...philoso....thoughtful.”

Strike laughed. “Too much so for this stage of the evening, clearly. Let’s find you a cab.”

Robin regarded the Herberts, nearly at the end of the street now, Nick patiently steering Ilsa towards the Tube and gently rebuffing her drunken attempt to shove him into a doorway for a snog.

She swung back to Strike.

“Can I come back to yours? My place is too far.”

Strike looked down at her through narrowed eyes as he took a last drag on his cigarette before dropping it into the gutter. “Why?”

“Don’t wanna go home. Bored of being on my own in that flat. You’re good company, I just...don’t want to be alone.” She glanced back up the road, but the Herberts were gone.

Strike thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. I can sleep on the camp bed.”

Robin nodded. They set off, and she tucked her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder.

...

“Take your shirt off again.”

“Um, what?”

“Take your shirt off again. I want to check something.”

Strike quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I just wanna look,” Robin insisted.

Amused, against his better judgement, Strike removed his shirt.

“See!” she cried, waving an arm at him. “Like I said earlier, are you kidding me? Look at you.”

Puzzled, Strike glanced down at himself and back up again.

“I mean, how am I gonna survive this?” she went on. “You’re— You’re kind and smart and handsome, and now I know that without clothes you’re also...gorgeous!”

Eyebrows in his hairline, Strike didn’t know what to say to that. “Um, thank you? How about I put a T-shirt on now?”

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Robin—”

“I mean sleep. Cosy sleep.”

“I was going to sleep on the camp bed.”

She pouted. “But I’m tired, and I always sleep alone. It’s...lonely. I want to be tired here, with you.”

Smiling, Strike shook his head a little. “You are so going to regret this in the morning.”

“Prob’ly. But right now I just wanna snuggle, and I trust you.”

He reached out and touched her upper arm, gently. “You can always trust me.”

Tears filled her eyes suddenly. “I know.”

And so Strike found himself, ten minutes later and still against his better judgment, in his own bed in his flat with his arm around Robin, her back against his chest and her soft curves really not disguised very well by her leggings and an old T-shirt of his. She was snoring already, her breathing deep and even. He’d felt a rush of protective fondness as she’d curled up into him, sighed contentedly and fallen asleep almost immediately, and now he was firmly telling himself that that was all he still felt.

He sighed a little, still not sure what was going on. The look on her face when she accidentally saw him earlier... Well. It had given him a flicker of hope. But now here she was, curled up asleep as though she really only did see him as a friend. She was such a puzzling mix of girl-next-door and sexiness, innocence and gorgeousness, shy yet friendly. He couldn’t work out how she felt.

_She’s your friend and she needed some company, _he told himself firmly. _All this is. _He closed his eyes and hoped he would fall asleep equally quickly.


End file.
